My daughter loves blanket fuzzies. She walks around with them tucked into her fingers when she sucks her thumb when she's tired. I was on a trip to WI for 5 days (the longest I've been away yet) and found a fuzzy stuck to my jeans.

That is magnificent, searing, and immediate. I have been trying to wrap my head around grief lately, but there is no wrapping one's head around it... rather it's the gravy droplets that go right to the center of it. I think I would die without poetry to guide me.